Congressional House Call
by Historybuff
Summary: It's 1776 and congress has become nothing more than a room full of disorderly, immature, spoiled brats. Hancock has had enough. Based on movie/musical 1776. Note: This story IS a parody. If characters seem overdone/exaggerated, it was intentional.
1. Chapter 1

1

Hancock stared ahead of him, his mouth slightly hanging open. Every few minutes, he picked up his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration that had formed on the back of his neck. He lazily swiveled in his chair and cocked his head to see the calendar hanging to the right of his desk.

"May 13th," he thought. "And it's already boiling in here." He gazed about the room, his eyes jumping from one congressman to the next. What he wanted to know is how such a diverse set of human beings all managed to become part of the same congress. None of them really had anything in common. There was Edward Rutledge, who hardly ever expressed his opinion about anything without strutting about the room, showing off his rich, dandified façade. And then there was Stephen Hopkins. Hancock did not even know how to describe this fellow.

"Mr. President!" Rutledge drawled, as always, lifting himself out of his chair, strutting towards the front of the room.

"Yes, Mr. Rutledge? What is it?" Hancock asked, trying to appear friendly.

"It's really not all that important… But as long as I have your attention… My fellow congressmen from the Deep South and I would like to make a suggestion to all members of this congress, concernin'…personal appearance." Hancock furrowed his eyebrows and gestured for Mr. Rutledge to elaborate. "We wouldn't want to offend any particular person. That would _certainly_ be in bad taste. It's just that as of late, it has become clearer than usual to all of us that with this heat, certain congressmen have not exactly put forth the effort to appear fresh and tidy. Again, it's not really that important. We just think that perhaps if our fellow congressmen might bother to freshen up every once in a while, we might be motivated to converse with them on a more regular basis."

"Oh good god!" Adams burst out. "Hancock, are you really going to let this peacock waste our time with his dribble about personal appearances? There's work to be done!"

"Mr. Adams," Rutledge began, his face gleaming with an artificial smile. "I am merely speakin' on behalf of all my southern brothers. There's no need to be aggressive towards me personally."

"Oh like we don't all know who you're talking to, Neddy!" Hopkins croaked. "I may not spend hours getting dressed up or picking out hair ties, but at least I'm here. And as long as I'm stuck listening to your 'dribble' as Johnny calls it, someone better go and fetch me a rum…fast!" Hopkins looked towards McNair who thrust his arms into the air angrily and hobbled towards the door.

"I agree with Mr. Rutledge," John Dickinson declared, rubbing his fingers up and down his shiny black cane. "Appearances are rather discouraging. What could possibly be more of an eyesore than a stubby little man in a brown suit?" Adams whipped his head towards Dickinson, too insulted to speak. But to no one's surprise, he soon was able to think of something cutting to say.

"Yes, Mr. Dickinson. I suppose if you had it your way, we would all spend more time picking out our evening frocks than the women!" The room began to roar with laughter.

"Are you suggesting that I'm a… _fop_?!" Dickinson furiously demanded.

"I prefer the term 'fribble', personally."

Dickinson rose from his chair. "I am NOT a fribble!"

Adams grinned, proud of the fact that he was finally the one to ruffle Dickinson's feathers, rather than it being the other way around. "Mr. Dickinson… What color would you call that coat that you're wearing? Green?"

"Certainly not! It's a dark variation of Chartreuse! And-" But Dickinson stopped, realizing that it was pointless to explain anything to the fashion ignoramuses of New England, who at the present time were all mocking him and laughing.

"Gentlemen, please!" Hancock exploded. "Can't we just go a day without one of you picking a fight with the other?" No one replied. Eventually, Rodger Sherman decided to be the brave one.

"Uhhh… Mr. President… We want to say we could… but we all like you too much to lie directly to you."

"I swear! If it's not over the lack of congressional fashion, it's about declaring our independence from Great Britain!" Adams suddenly got a glimmer in his eye and Hancock knew that he had DEFINITELY said the wrong thing. "Wait, John-"

"I say VOTE YES!"

"NO!" congress screamed in unison.

"VOTE YES!"

"NO!"

"VOTE FOR-" before Adams could finish his whining, he was suddenly struck in the back of the head with a cane.

"That's for the wisecrack about my coat!" Dickinson said, smoothening his ruffled cravat. Adams did not pass out, but sat on the floor for a few seconds, rubbing his skull. He examined his hand, which was now covered in blood.

"You- you-" he stuttered. "You gave me a head wound!" Dickinson laughed maniacally. But he didn't laugh for long. In retaliation, Adams took his foot and kicked Dickinson in the shin, knocking him off his balance and onto the floor. He cared little about the actual blow, but when he realized that Adams had left a large black scuff mark on his crisp silk stocking, it was more than he could handle. What originally started as a pathetic cat fight between the two of them suddenly turned into an all out brawl. A crowd quickly gathered around them. Some men were cheering on Dickinson… well… actually most men were cheering on Dickinson. But Franklin was right there by Adams' side as well, telling him to make sure to cover his wounds with raw meat as soon as he got home. The only people left in their seats were Thomas Jefferson, whose mind was too far out into space to even notice the wrestling match, Charles Thomson, who was far too indifferent to _care_ who won the wrestling match, and of course John Hancock, whose blood was beginning to boil, and it wasn't because of the summer heat.

"SHUT UP ALL OF YOU!" he exploded. As quickly as the fight had started, it mellowed down. Everyone froze and stared up at Hancock. "Go back to your seats!" They all did as they were told without question. Each full grown man began to tremble. Hancock had never gone off on them before. Finally, as soon as his face lightened from a dark shade of purple (or violet, as Dickinson would describe it), he managed to stand up. "Listen up, every single one of you." His voice was shaking with fury. But he was trying to be calm. "I have had enough of your bickering, your whining, and the constant negativity reeking from each man in this congress. If you want to have a fight, so be it! But do it on your own time! I didn't come all the way to Philadelphia to take care of a room full of poorly behaved children!" He snatched his coat from his chair and galloped towards the door. "Mark my word gentlemen, by the end of the week, I WILL have a solution to this problem. And if it means sending every single one of you home, don't think I won't!" At that, he departed, slamming the door behind him.

"Wow," Richard Henry Lee exclaimed. "Hey Johnny… Do you think he's angry?"

Adams rolled his eyes. "What would give you _that _impression, Richard?"

"I don't know. It was just a crazy thought, I guess."

"What can we do to make him like us again?" Sherman asked worriedly.

"I know! Let's bake him a cake!" Lee suggested. After a brief shining moment, he looked around to see everyone glaring at him. "What? We could write 'Get Happy Soon' on the top of it with little pebbles!"

"You don't put pebbles on a cake, you idiot! He'd eat one and choke to death!" And from there, Adams and Lee continued with the most mindless debate over whether or not it would be a good idea to put pebbles on top of a 'Get Happy Soon Cake'. The argument most likely would have lasted much longer if it were not for Ben Franklin.

"John, settle down. If Richard wants to make a pebble cake, just go along with it." Adams glared at Richard, who was gleaming with pride. "Apparently the two of you didn't hear a word Hancock just said. He wants us to be mature, friendly individuals with each other… at least when we're around him. Now let's just forget about this evening and come in tomorrow bright and cheery as if nothing had happened." Each man nodded his head in agreement.

As they left congress, Adams quickly caught up with Franklin. "Do you really think he will forgive us?"

"Mmmm… It's hard to say, John. Hancock in a pretty sensible fellow. I'm sure he won't really send you home. But something tells me he has plans for us… and I'm not entirely sure what they are." Adams winced. He was not sure if he wanted to know what mysterious plans Hancock had lurking in the shadows, but Adams knew that, no matter what they were, they would NOT be to his approval.


	2. Chapter 2

2

"Where do you think he is?" someone murmured from the back of the room, staring anxiously at Hancock's empty seat.

"He better come soon!" Richard said, worriedly. "I think my cake's going to melt!" Adams glanced down at Lee's cake, which had the words 'Git Happee Suun' misspelled across the top of it.

"Why would your cake melt?"

"Well…" Lee began to blush. "Last night, when I was getting ready to start baking, I realized that I was all out of eggs…and sugar… and flour. So I decided to wing it and just use BUTTER!!" Adams groaned, suppressing vomit.

"Hey, everyone shut up!" McNair shouted out. Every congressmen began to snarl at McNair, who backed away, frightened. "Uh… I mean… I would appreciate it if… you would use your inside voices because Mr. Hancock's coming!" The gentlemen looked at one another and hastily straightened up, placing their hands on their laps and their feet under their chairs, just like good little congressmen. Footsteps slowly approached the room, but it sounded like more than one person. Each man eyed the door curiously. Finally, Hancock boldly entered the room, accompanied by an odd little man in a grey suit.

"Good morning, everyone!" Hancock exclaimed, surprisingly pleasant. "I have a little surprise for all of you."

"Would that surprise have anything to do with that guy?" Lee questioned, running his eyes over the man confusedly.

"Congratulations, Richard. You figured it out," Hancock said. "Gentlemen of the congress, may I introduce Mr.… I'm sorry… I keep forgetting your name."

"Hello, all! I am Dr. Franz Bachmeier." No one said anything, but began to squirm in their seats.

"We don't need a doctor, Hancock!" Hopkins protested.

"Gentlemen… I am not a regular doctor. I study the human mind… All that is associated with emotions and the reactions people have to their emotions… I pay close attention to relationship and how certain people react to one another…" Again, the room fell silent.

"I've never heard of this kind of doctor," Adams said, unimpressed. "Did you even go to a university?"

"Yes. I'm a regular doctor as well… I just prefer studying the human psyche."

"No offense, Hancock, but where did you find this crazy eccentric? Who ever heard of studying the psyche?!" Adams scoffed.

"Actually, Mr. Adams, I was reading a book that Mr. Bachmeier wrote one day when I was trying to tune your piercing voice out of my mind. It's all very interesting. Though I am sure that he is the only one of his kind, his ideas intrigued me and I thought maybe he could help some of you."

"Mr. Hancock! Don't be absurd!" Dickinson cried out. "We don't need help! We are doing very well. There definitely wasn't any need for you to ship in _this_ ridiculous fellow!"

"I disagree. Nothing is ever settled in this congress because you spend all your time fighting with one another. I've had enough, gentlemen. This doctor claims to know how to fix relationships and he says he can help us… I just pray he is correct. I don't know what else to do. I'm sorry if it inconveniences any of you, but too bad. I'm President. You all have to do what I say."

"Ha! You can't make us do _anything_!" Adams said, defiantly.

Hancock smirked. "Richard… Flap your arms and cluck like a chicken." Without a second of hesitation, Richard leaped from his seat and began flapping and clucking. Dr. Bachmeier was amused, though the rest of them were used to it.

"Fine!" Adams gave in. "But in all fairness, it's not like he really needed a lot of persuading."

"So without further ado… Dr. Bachmeier…You may commence with your… 'tests' as you call them." Dr. Bachmeier gave a quick scheming smile and skimmed his eyes over each man in the room. They all began to shutter.

"This… is going to be _quite fun_!"


	3. Chapter 3

A fly whizzed past Adams' ear. He swatted at it, and eventually it left him alone. The room stood frozen; all of the congressmen, with the exception of Hancock and Thomson, were seated on the floor with their legs crossed, forming a circle around Dr. Bachmeier, who was currently scanning over a piece of paper he had scribbled on. Finally, he removed his spectacles and stared directly at Adams, who began to fidget.

"All right, gentlemen… I want to start with all of you introducing yourselves."

"Is that really necessary, Doctor?" Edward Rutledge asked, skeptically. "We all know each other."

"Actually, you might be surprised to see how many people do not know each other's names in this room."

"I guarantee _everyone_ knows me," Rutledge said, pompously.

"Nevertheless… indulge me, Mr.… I'm sorry, I don't know your name." Rutledge frowned irritably.

"Edward Rutledge."

"Mr. Rutledge… How about you tell us all a little something about yourself." Rutledge thought for a moment and began to grin patronizingly at the doctor.

"If you insist… Gentlemen… I am Edward Rutledge of South Carolina… I work as a lawyer, plantation owner, and of course, as a congressman."

"Are you married, Mr. Rutledge?" Dr. Bachmeier pushed.

"Yes, I am, sir. My wife's name is Henrietta. Anything else you need to know, Doctor?"

"One more thing…"he mumbled, studying his paper intensely. "What is your favorite food?"

Rutledge scrunched his nose, puzzled. Finally, he cleared his throat and whispered, "I'm not really sure what that has to do with anything… But I guess if I had to choose… I would pick apples." Samuel Chase scoffed. Rutledge stared at him, inquisitive. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Chase?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Rutledge, but do you expect anyone to believe that there is a person out there who would say that their favorite food is… _fruit_?!"

"Fruit is very healthy, Mr. Chase. It keeps a man fit." Chase turned away, knowing that this statement was meant to criticize him.

"Moving on," the doctor declared decidedly. "How about you there?" He pointed across to James Wilson, who took a large gulp.

"M- Me, Doctor?" he crackled.

"Yes. Tell us about yourself."

"Oh… Well… My name is James Wilson… There's really not much to say… I am a judge… I have a wife… and…" He thought hard, trying to figure out if there was actually anything about him that was worth mentioning.

"Favorite food?"

"That's a challenging question, Doctor… I would have to choose strawberry preserves." The doctor nodded in approval and jotted something down on his paper.

"Who next?" he called out. No one raised their hands. "Come now… Do I really have to call on you?" He began squinting his eyes at each man, pensively. Feeling himself beginning to suffocate under the pressure, Richard Henry Lee began to point rapidly at George Reed, who was seated on the other side of the circle. "Oh! I see a volunteer!" Dr. Bachmeier cheerfully said, staring at Lee, who snapped his fingers in frustration.

"Ok… I'll go… My name is Richard Henry Lee! I'm from the colony of VIRGINIA! Uh… I spend most of my free time practicing dance routines in front of a mirror and trying to count how many flies enter Liberty Hall in a single day!"

Adams rolled his eyes in disgust. "Idiot."

"Something you want to share, sir?" the doctor inquired staring intensely at Adams, who began to fidget once more.

"No… Nothing."

"Well, maybe _you_ should be next to go."

"WAIT!!" Lee cried out in protest. "You didn't ask me what my favorite food is!"

"All right… What's your favorite food, Mr. Lee?"

"Pickled frog legs!! Right out of the swamp!" An awkward silence.

"Anyway…" the Doctor grumbled, turning back to Adams, who was trying not to visibly perspire. "Your turn."

"I am John Adams of Massachusetts… I am a lawyer and a farmer… I have a wife and several children, all of whom I love dearly." The doctor stared at him expectantly. At first, Adams found himself speechless, but soon remembered what the doctor was waiting to hear. "My favorite food is… roasted duck… in a sweet pear glaze… with boiled potatoes and crisp green vegetables." Every man in the room began to drool. Finally, the doctor snapped out of his daydream and continued with his questioning. He interrogated each congressman, one by one, and eventually, by noon, there was only a single congressman left to question.

"Your name, sir?" Dr. Bachmeier asked.

"John Dickinson… I'm really not sure what you wish to hear from me, Doctor."

"I just want to get to know you," Dr. Bachmeier gently explained. Dickinson sneered bitterly.

"Of course. May I speak candidly, Doctor?" Dr. Bachmeier gave an affirming nod. "Thank you. Honestly, I really do not see how discussing my personal life with everyone here is going to make a difference in our psyche. If you desire to speak with me privately, I might possibly acquiesce. But as it is, I would rather remain discreet." Dr. Bachmeier began to rub his chin, deep in thought.

"I see… Well, could you at least tell us what your favorite food is?" Dickinson sneered once more and began to gaze out the window.

"White rice," he declared, sarcastically.

Dr. Bachmeier turned to Hancock, who thought for a moment, and eventually gave a signal for the doctor to allow for Dickinson to behave this way.

"Well…" The doctor mumbled, struggling to stand up. "I would say that, overall, we did quite well this morning. I will now call a short lunch break and when we return we will all get started with the more lively portion of my tests. You are dismissed."

If one were to be loitering outside Liberty Hall, they might have thought that the building had caught on fire. Within a split second, the room had emptied, leaving no one but Hancock, Thomson, McNair, Dr. Bachmeier, and an ironically rebellious John Dickinson.


	4. Chapter 4

"If everyone is ready, I would like to commence," Dr. Bachmeier announced.

"What's the first test, Doctor?!" Lee asked, his mouth stuffed with butter cake, which was beginning to seep between his teeth.

"The first test-" the Doctor began, but of course was interrupted by Lee, who was coughing and gagging. "What's wrong, Mr. Lee?" Dr. Bachmeier inquired, concerned.

"Have no fear, Doctor. He is just choking on a pebble from his butter cake," Dickinson explained, as though what he had just said was perfectly normal. Adams gave Lee a hard slap on the back (more for his own pleasure than to help Lee) and the little jagged rock catapulted from his throat into the middle of the circle, right next to the doctor.

Roger Sherman began inspecting it curiously. He scrunched his face and looked up at Lee, his expression dripping with aversion. "That's disgusting!"

Lee opened his mouth, preparing to defend himself, but was interrupted by the good (nay, _angelic_!) doctor. "I _was_ going to tell you all about our first test, but it seems that I have lost your attention. Is anybody there?"

"_Does anybody care_?!" Adams exclaimed.

"Thank you, Mr. Adams. Anyway, may I continue?"

"Proceed, Doctor. I speak for all the gentlemen here when I say that you will have no more interruptions," Rutledge explained with feigned warmth.

"Very well. The first test requires each _gentleman_ to find someone else in the room with whom he can work." Everyone started looking around excitedly, trying to make eye contact with the person with whom they wanted to work. "Not so fast!" the doctor warned. "You do not choose the person. I do! While you were all at lunch, I wrote out a list. With your permission, Mr. Hancock, I will read the list." Hancock nodded his head. "All right… Dr. Franklin… You work with James Wilson." Franklin grinned at Wilson, who moved to sit next to him in the circle. Dr. Bachmeier continued. "Thomas Jefferson… You work with … Roger Sherman…" The list continued. John Adams glanced at all the pairings, waiting fearfully for his name to be called.

"Richard Lee… You work with Mr. Dickinson." Dickinson turned to away from the circle, trying desperately to hide his (to put it gently) 'lack of enthusiasm'. Lee, however, had a slightly different reaction. He leaped up flamboyantly and stumbled towards Dickinson.

"Johnny boy! Did you hear that? DID YOU HEAR?! We get to work together!" Dickinson was about to mumble something cutting, when Lee, caught up in the excitement, started joyously shaking him.

"John Adams…" Dr. Bachmeier called. "You work with…" Adams perked up, pacifying the sour feeling in his stomach by reminding himself over and over again that two of the worst partners had just been put together. "Oh yes… Mr. Adams, you work with Edward Rutledge." Adams did not know how the doctor had done it, but he managed to find a partner for Adams that was worse than all the other bad partners combined.

"Are you comin' over here, Mr. Adams, or should I come to you?" Rutledge called out. Adams reluctantly lifted himself and crossed to Rutledge, who was no happier about the match, yet was pleased that he was being given to opportunity to make poor Mr. Adams miserable. Everyone sat staring at the doctor as he finished with his list. When he had done so, he looked up making sure that he had not forgotten anyone.

"All right, gentlemen. This is what we are going to do… I have created questions for all of you to ask each other… Some of them are fairly simple… Some are personal questions. If you are strongly opposed to answering any particular question, I suppose it may be excused. But try to answer as many as you can." Dr. Bachmeier started handing out sheets of paper to each pair, with questions legibly written on both sides. Each pair picked a quiet table to work at. As they did so, Dr. Bachmeier slowly strolled around the room, listening in whenever he did not think anyone would notice.

Thomas Jefferson stared down at his hands absent mindedly. Mr. Sherman sat patiently, waiting for Jefferson to awake from his daydream, but after a few moments, became annoyed.

"Mr. Jefferson…" he called out. No reply. Sherman bent his head down to see exactly what Jefferson was scrutinizing so intensely. Was he trying to see how long he could go without blinking? Finally, Sherman had had enough and snapped his fingers right under Jefferson's nose. Jefferson jumped back, startled.

"Oh… Good morning, Mr. Sherman."

"Good _afternoon_, Mr. Jefferson. Do you think we should begin with the questions?"

Jefferson looked at him blankly. "Questions?"

"Yes… The ones Dr. Bachmeier just handed out."

The staring continued. "Dr. Bachmeier?"

"You know… The little man that Hancock sent to study us."

Yet another stare. "Hancock?"

Sherman sighed irritably, feeling that perhaps Jefferson _did_ have a sense of humor and was just trying to irritate him. "You know… That old, fat, unhappy guy that sits at the fancy desk and tells us what to do." For the first time, Jefferson's eyes began to light up.

"Oh! The one that's always making me give the weather report."

"Right…" Sherman did not know where to go from there, but decided that he better begin with the questions before Jefferson got lost in a daze again. "So… If you'd like, I will start the interrogation, I suppose… Question number one: As a child, what profession did you envision for yourself?"

"Uhhh… Well… I was never really certain. I often considered becoming a lawyer… or a statesman…or a farmer… or an architect… or a violinist… Eventually, I decided to take on all of those professions… What is your profession again?"

Sherman looked down sadly. "I'm a cobbler."

"Oh… Right… Well… That must be very interesting… I think…" Despite his many talents, it suddenly became clear that Jefferson was not a very convincing liar or flatterer.

"Next question," Sherman mumbled. "What do you consider to be the greatest inspiration in your life?"

"Mainly the writings of great minds. Have you read anything by John Locke?"

"Well… No."

"Oh…" Jefferson glanced to the side disapprovingly. "How about Thomas Hobbes?"

Sherman began picking at a string hanging from his vest. "No…I _plan _on reading his works… Uh…Maybe _you_ should read the next questions."

Jefferson silently retrieved the paper. "First question: Is there one particular aspect of life that you appreciate above all others?"

Sherman thought deeply. "Well… I do devote much of my time to religion…I suppose this would have to be what I appreciate above all other aspects of life… But if I were to look past that… Honestly, there is nothing I love more than the delightful look on a gentleman or lady's face when they first slip their feet into shoes that I have made with my own two hands." Sherman began to smile, but soon noticed that Jefferson was raising an eyebrow. "It's a simple pleasure."

Dr. Bachmeier, who had been inconspicuously watching them this entire time, started towards the next group. It was going even better than he thought it would.

"First question," Adams began, hoping to get this over with in a timely fashion. "Do you have a close relationship with your family?"

Rutledge chuckled patronizingly. "Why wouldn't I, Mr. Adams? Granted, there are times when it is difficult to keep in touch with my family, bein' that I am here in Philadelphia. But I appreciate the time I have with them when I am able to see them. And I _promise_ that they appreciate their time with me."

"Uh huh," Adams grunted in disbelief, copying Rutledge's answer on a piece of paper. "Next: What is your greatest vice?"

"_Vice_?!" Rutledge cried, as though he had no idea what this word meant.

"Yes… Vice… Fault… Your most negative quality."

"Mr. Adams, does it look like I have any 'vices'?" Rutledge was setting himself up to be verbally smashed into dust, but Adams decided to ignore him.

"You want me to write that, according to you, you are a man without any faults?"

"Well, Mr. Adams, if I were to agree to that, wouldn't I be contradictin' myself? Saying so would show a lack of tact and modesty. You just write what _you_ think is correct, Mr. Adams."

"Stubborn, deceitful, condescending, arrogant…" Adams' mental list went on and on, but eventually he just decided to write that, according to Mr. Edward Rutledge, he was the absolute quintessence of perfection. "Question number three: Whom do you admire above all other people?"

Again, Rutledge gazed at Adams, confused. "I do not know if there _is _a person out there whom I- I mean… What I meant to say is… You see, when a gentleman is confident in himself and knows that he can accomplish whatever he endeavors to do, he no longer needs to admire _anyone_."

"There is not a single person to whom you feel inferior?" Adams asked, astounded by the lack of tact and modesty this 'creature of perfection' was displaying. Rutledge ignored this question and took the paper from Adams.

"My turn, Mr. Adams. All right… Here's a good question. Whom do you admire above all other people?"

"What?! I just asked you the exact same question!"

"Give your answer, Mr. Adams!" Rutledge demanded, dipping his quill pen into ink, preparing to write down the response.

"Fine… I admire my wife Abigail above all other people."

Rutledge scoffed. "Mr. Adams, I need your _honest_ answer."

"That _is_ my honest answer!" Adams snapped.

"Your _wife_? That is who you would choose?… Mr. Adams, perhaps you need a minute to think. We have plenty of time. I'll wait here patiently for you to think of an answer."

"I do not need a minute to think, Rutledge. Now write down my answer or I will take that quill pen and-" Before Adams could finish, they were distracted by a loud cry coming from the next table. Rutledge signaled for Adams to keep quiet and slowly pushed his chair towards the other group. Adams followed his example, hoping he would not notice.

"That's not the right answer, John!" Lee protested, his lip quivering. "I asked you what you hoped to accomplish before you die!"

"And I answered," Dickinson said coldly, flipping a page in his book.

" 'Pie' is NOT an answer, John!" Richard slammed his own head against the desk in frustration.

"Careful, you wouldn't want to hurt yourself," Dickinson mumbled dryly. "Are you not going to ask me any more questions?"

"No, I have another one!" Lee exclaimed, wiping the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. "But you have to promise to answer!"

"I will answer, Mr. Lee." He didn't bother to look up from his book.

"All right… If your child was dying of a terrible illness would you do anything to save her?" Dickinson thought deeply and began to stare at Lee, who was leaning forward intensely. "Well, John? Would you do _anything_?!"

"I would have to say…" Lee began to shake with anticipation. All of a sudden, Dickinson coughed into his handkerchief and muttered something.

"What?" Richard asked, beginning to pant.

"Hmm?" Dickinson looked up expectantly at Lee. "Well, write down my answer."

Lee looked at the paper and then back up at Dickinson. "But… But John, I- I couldn't hear-"

"Come now, Mr. Lee. We don't have all day." Dickinson returned to his book, trying to conceal an evil grin.

"John! I'm trying to say that I don't understand what you-"

"Lee! I've told you, we don't have time to waste. Now start writing and move on to the next question." Lee didn't know what to do. For the first time, Adams felt a little sorry for him. Finally, Lee picked up the pen and prepared to write, though he had no idea what to put down. Dickinson stiffly glanced over the top of his book at Lee. "Oh, and Mr. Lee, make sure that your spelling is correct. You know how much Hancock hates it when you ignore spelling." Lee dropped the pen and began to groan.

"John! I'm trying to say that I couldn't hear you before!"

"Oh! Well, why didn't you just say so?" Dickinson sat up once more. "My answer was… pie."

"WHAT?!" Lee exploded. "John, I've already told you-" Suddenly, Dr. Bachmeier appeared out of nowhere and placed his hand on Lee's shoulder.

"Mr. Lee, don't be upset."

"Oh, Dr. Bachmeier! Thank heavens! Doctor, tell John that 'pie' isn't the answer to everything!"

Dickinson began to smile again. "It isn't, Mr. Lee? Forgive me, gentlemen. I wasn't aware of this… Uh… Tell me, Lee, what's your favorite dessert?"

Lee began to gleam, but Dr. Bachmeier covered his mouth. "Don't answer that, Richard. All right… I see some of you aren't working well with each other. That goes for you two gentlemen as well." At this, he turned to Adams and Rutledge, who were still listening in. They both frowned, and made an attempt to return to their own table. "Maybe it is time for me to change partners. Mr. Lee, you will be working with Mr. Rutledge." Lee smiled at Rutledge, relieved. Adams felt himself beginning to panic. "Mr. Adams, that means that you and Mr. Dickinson will be working with each other on the next experiment."

Adams did not know whether he should scream, cry, or just attack the doctor. He turned to Dickinson, who was no longer smiling. He still had not glanced up from his book. Eventually, Adams replied with a somewhat insincere, "Yes, Doctor."


	5. Chapter 5

4

"Well, Doctor?" Lee inquired intensely. "What's the next experiment?"

Bachmeier began to smile as he gave McNair a signal to go and fetch something for him. "Patience, Mr. Lee. I promise you will enjoy this particular experiment. It's my favorite. All right, gentlemen. Kindly form a circle once more and make sure to sit next to your partner." Adams and Dickinson glanced coldly at one another as they made their way to the circle in the middle of the room. They all sat silently for a moment until finally, McNair entered carrying a large basket, which he handed to the doctor. "Thank you, Mr. McNair. All right, gentleman. This is where our tests start to become challenging. The previous exercises were simply meant to introduce you to one another and to me. The following experiment will teach you how to work with one another. Mr. McNair, if you would be so good as to give each pair one of… these." At this, he uncovered the basket and handed it back to McNair who began to distribute its contents to the pairs of congressmen.

"An _egg_?!" Adams exclaimed. "What could we possibly do with this?"

"I will tell you, Mr. Adams, if you give me the chance." Adams rolled his eyes and handed the egg to Dickinson who began to examine it. "Each of these eggs has a small baby chick inside. The egg will be hatching within the next few days. This is an opportunity for each of you to show how well you can work with one another when given a responsibility."

"Dr. Bachmeier, when do you suppose, in the real world, will Mr. Adams and I ever have to raise a chicken in order to prove ourselves responsible?" Dickinson asked, disgusted.

"It's not just raising a chicken, Mr. Dickinson. As I said, it shows how well you can work _together_. I already know that each of you are reputable gentlemen on your own. You wouldn't be part of this congress if you were not. But Mr. Hancock had me come here to teach you how to utilize your attributes while making decisions with others. You see? Anyway, in three days, each pair will bring in their baby chick and talk about how you managed to work together to raise it from birth. Incidentally, the day that you will be presenting will also be the day that I return to my own land. I _hope that by that time we will have made some progress." _

"_And what will we be doing in the meantime?" Adams asked. "Are you just going to watch us as we wait for our eggs to hatch?" _

"_Of course not, Mr. Adams. That wouldn't be progressive, would it? No. I've decided that what each of you need is private time with me. I will be calling each of you to my private office upstairs one at a time, or, if I feel it would help matters, in pairs. In the meantime, the others will plan out who will be taking care of the egg until it hatches and if there is time, you can continue with the questions. Does everyone understand?" The congressmen nodded their heads. "Very well. Get to work. The first person that I want to talk to upstairs is… Mr. Edward Rutledge." Rutledge glanced up and began to smile, flattered. He gracefully stood and followed the doctor upstairs. Meanwhile, the other gentlemen began to fondle their eggs, wondering what they had done to deserve this humiliation. _


	6. Chapter 6

Mr. Edward Rutledge situated himself in a chair and stared at the doctor, waiting patiently as he gently bounced his foot up and down. Eventually, the doctor glanced up and grinned at the young gentleman.

"Well, Mr. Rutledge, we are all alone now."

"Yes." Though it rarely happened with someone as cool and collected as this southern dandy, he felt himself nervously beginning to fidget.

"Is there anything that you would like to talk about that you normally would feel uncomfortable discussing in front of a group?" The young man smiled and softly chuckled. Though he always enjoyed being the center of attention, he really had no idea how he should respond. "Perhaps you could just tell me a little about your life. That is, your life away from Philadelphia."

"Well, I already told you about my dear little wife, Dr. Bachmeier."

"You told me her name, yes. But you really did not tell me anything about her."

"Oh, well… What is there to tell?"

"Do you love her?" Rutledge sat up rapidly, unaccustomed to this forwardness.

"That's not a simple question."

"It seems simple enough to me. Do you… or don't you?" Rutledge sighed heavily, irritating flashing forth from his eyes.

"Doctor… In order for me to answer, I will have to explain somethin' to you first. Ever since I was born, I have been walkin' in the shadow of my older brother John. And…to be quite candid… I have always been the inferior of the two. Now I am not sayin' this because I want to invoke pity or anything like that. I simply believe that if you wish to study me, it is necessary for you to know all the details of my life. Anyway, I eventually grew to be an adult. I did well in my studies, though not as well as John. I learned how to manage family business, though not as well as John. But there was one area in our lives where I was doubtlessly the master and he the inferior. I had become the expert of what many people refer to as… 'Southern charm.' I could obtain whatever I wanted whenever I wanted it all because I knew how to…to…"

"Manipulate?" Dr. Bachmeier suggested.

"No, not exactly… I knew how to persuade people to humor me. As you can imagine, I had _plenty_ of young ladies in mind. They all adored me!"

"And that is how you met your wife?"

"No! Well, Henrietta adored me, to be sure… in a sisterly kind of way. But as it could be expected, it was no other than my brother John who had stolen her heart. I tried so hard to win her…" At this point, Mr. Rutledge no longer appeared to be speaking to the doctor.

"Well, you must have thought of some way to succeed. Unless you decided to win her with intellect instead of charm."

"Do I look like I have changed my ways, doctor? No… I never gave up my irresistible talent of warming up to people."

"Then how did you manage to convince her to marry you?"

"Well, luckily for me, my brother had absolutely no interest in Henrietta. He married another young lady, leavin' my love heart broken. Eventually, her grief led her to accept my offer of marriage. I was relatively happy, though I knew that she had no feelings for me. What a foolish mistake we made! Ever since then, I've felt as though I've been livin' a double life. When I'm home, I strive to be intellectual and sincere, though I know she will never be satisfied with my endeavors. And when I am here, I use the charm and coolness I had developed in my youth, knowin' full well that, were Henrietta here, she would be appalled. So how can I be happy, sir? My love for her is the reason why I cannot be content with my formality (or as some call, 'insincerity'), which is the only attribute in which I had ever defeated my brother."

Dr. Bachmeier rubbed his chin pensively. "To summarize… You are telling me that as a child, the only way you were able to develop pride was by mastering the art of manipulation."

"Charm!"

"Forgive me. Charm… And yet… This one 'attribute' was the only part of you in which Henrietta had absolutely no interest. So in a way, your one strong talent was also your largest vice. How incredibly ironic."

"Yes, I suppose it is. I never really gave it much thought. But there's no way for me to fix this… Is there?" At this, young Edward Rutledge suddenly leaped from his chair, paced back and forth between the doctor and the window and began to sob uncontrollably.

"Mr. Rutledge!" Dr. Bachmeier stood slowly, not sure of what to do. "Please. It's not that bad. I'm sure we can think of a way for you to create a happy marriage!"

"What's the use? She loathes me now! Maybe I should just finish myself off and be done with it!" The doctor had a rather difficult time making out his words through all the wailing.

"Mr. Rutledge, please! I don't mean to sound insensitive, but try to control yourself!"

"I cannot stay cool and charmin' any longer, Dr. Bachmeier! It's just too painful!" Dr. Bachmeier quickly crossed to Rutledge, who had buried his face in a handkerchief.

"Sir… You do not have to be cool and charming. You never had to be. And I think that perhaps if you tried being honest with others and more importantly yourself, you would become a far happier person." Rutledge sniffed and quivered, but after a moment, reluctantly began to nod his head, though he still had not lifted it from the handkerchief. "Now come sit. We still have much to discuss."

"Uh…" Rutledge looked up, startled. "Wait, doctor. I don't feel so well…"

"It will only take a little while."

"Please. I don't think that…"

"Just sit, Mr. Rutledge." Rutledge did not move but stared at the doctor blankly. All of a sudden, he looked from the doctor to the ceiling and promptly fainted, his body dropping on the floor with a loud 'clunk!'. Dr. Bachmeier ran to his side once more. "Rutledge! Can you hear me?" He waved his hand in front of Rutledge's eyes. Finally, Rutledge began to groan. He swallowed hard and attempted to sit up, but his strength failed him. Dr. Bachmeier raced to the door and called out, "Please! I need some help in here!" Within a minute, Dr. Lyman Hall was standing in the doorway. "He has fainted. I don't know what happened."

"Oh dear!" Dr. Hall knelt down beside Rutledge and looked closely at his face. "Mr. Rutledge…"

"Dr. Hall? Is that… you?"

"Yes, sir. What happened? Have you been ill?"

"No. I don't think so. I just need to rest for a while. Dr. Bachmeier… would it be all right if we continue our session at another time?"

"Oh, certainly!"

"Come, Mr. Rutledge. I'll help you downstairs." Dr. Hall gently lifted Rutledge's arm over his neck and assisted him out of the room. As soon as the door was closed, Rutledge pulled away from Dr. Hall, who stared at him, puzzled.

"Are we alone, Dr. Hall?"

"Uh… Yes. Sir, I don't think you are strong enough to go downstairs without my assistance."

"I'm fine! I just needed to get out of there. You have no idea how difficult it was to get away from him! First I attempted to escape by telling him this long, dull story I made up about my life. To be honest, I can not even remember what I said. Then I lost all sense of pride by sobbing and wailing, hoping to scare him away. But wouldn't you know that my makin' a complete idiot out of myself only compelled him to question me further? So I had to pass out! That's how desperate I was to escape, Dr. Hall! I pity you, sir. I don't think you have what it takes to flee." Dr. Hall's mouth had dropped open within the first few seconds of Rutledge's speech. Rutledge saw that he had nothing to say, so he quickly ran down the stairs. "Oh!" he said, turning back to Hall. "Do they all think that somethin' happened to me?" he asked, pointing at the room full of congressmen.

"I believe they are concerned about you."

"All right. If anyone asks, I passed out." At this, Rutledge beckoned for Hall to come and take his arm, as though he were not strong enough to walk by himself. At first Dr. Hall was reluctant to help him with his deceitful plan, but he eventually gave in to Rutledge's 'charm.'

"I am taking care of the egg!" Adams snapped, trying to pry it from Dickinson's fingers.

"Stop grasping it, you fool! You will kill the chicken inside!"

"Does that concern you? I thought you murdered baby animals for your own entertainment!"

"I am perfectly capable of watching over an unborn chick, Mr. Adams!"

"I don't believe you! You are planning on crushing it with a brick just so you can sabotage the project!"

"Why would I ever do that?"

"Because you're the devil! And because you have not cooperated in any of the past experiments. What would stop you from ruining this one? Especially since you know it would infuriate me!"

"Mr. Adams, stop scratching my hand! I'm not giving you the egg!" Finally, Dickinson shoved Adams into a chair and inspected the minor injuries Adams had given him.

"Oh, that's right. Look after your own wounds. Don't give our chicken any consideration!" Dickinson glared at Adams and quickly turned his attention to the egg, which, thankfully, had not been harmed in the struggle.

"Mr. Adams, this is what is going to happen. I will watch the egg until it hatches. I promise that nothing will happen to it. When it hatches, I will hand the baby chick to you and let you take care of it!"

"Of course! I get to take care of her when she's at her difficult age! You have the easy job!"

Dickinson turned his head to Adams and scrunched his face in disbelief. "I am going to ignore that."

"Fine! But make sure that our baby isn't cooked!" At this, both gentlemen turned to Dr. Hall and Mr. Chase. Chase was caressing the egg. He suddenly began to lick his lips loudly. Dr. Hall sat up as though he felt obligated to protect the chicken, but quickly turned away, shaking his head in silent disgust. Adams watched with sympathy, feeling that perhaps this was the only time where he was thankful that he had Dickinson as a partner, as opposed to someone who might go so far as to eat the project. He glanced at Dickinson, who was now cupping the egg in the palms of his hands. "Stop that! You're going to kill it!"

"Will you please stop harassing me?" Dickinson snapped. "I'm not trying to kill it. I'm keeping it warm."

"Oh," Adams mumbled, watching as Dickinson gently rolled the egg in his palms. "I see."

"Look, Neddy!" Richard Henry Lee cried from across the room. Rutledge, who was still pretending to feel ill, turned to Lee. "I gave it a face!" Apparently, in the past few minutes, Lee had used a quill pen to draw an obnoxiously happy facial expression on the egg. "Isn't it amazing? Well, isn't it? Isn't it, Neddy? Isn't it?!"

"Yes, Mr. Lee. It's… simply amazing."

"I hoped that you would think so! I was trying to make it look like me! How'd I do?"

"Poor chicken," Adams thought to himself. "It doesn't even have a chance."


	7. Chapter 7

7

John Adams reluctantly made his way into the large room filled with congressmen. He felt as though it had not even been an hour since he departed from this foul, fetid, fuming, foggy, filthy place before, yet an entire evening had passed. He immediately took off his coat and placed it over his chair. He took a deep breath and approached John Dickinson, who was talking quietly with James Wilson.

Adams cleared his throat and waited patiently for a response. Dickinson slowly glanced up with an expression on his face that made Adams feel as though perhaps he did not have the right to confront him.

"Yes, Mr. Adams? Do you need something?"

"I wanted to know if you have the egg with you."

"Of course I do!" Dickinson exclaimed indignantly. "Do you really think that I would just leave it all by itself for the day?"

"Yes."

Dickinson rolled his eyes and reached under his chair. He slowly lifted a soft cushion covered with a velvet cloth onto the table.

"What is _this_?" Dickinson sighed impatiently and lifted the velvet cloth, revealing the egg lying comfortably on the cushion. Upon seeing this, Adams could not help but laugh. Dickinson glowered. "And what may I ask is so very amusing?"

"You made it a bed?!"

"Yes! This way it can stay warm! Is it really all that shocking?"

"Not really, I suppose. It's just that I cannot imagine you ever putting that much time and consideration into another living creature that isn't yourself."

"You forget, Mr. Adams, that I have children of my own. I'm not entirely as mean-spirited and self-involved as you make me out to be."

"Bah!" Adams glanced around the room and suddenly noticed that Dr. Bachmeier had been staring at them. As soon as his eyes met Adams', the doctor returned to his writing.

"Well, don't do anything stupid with it. I'd hate to see our project end up like Chase's…" At this, they both looked towards Chase, who was trying to cover up the cracks in the now hollow eggshell with lacy strips of his cravat.

"All right, gentlemen!" Dr. Bachmeier called out. The room fell silent. "We shall begin today with a new experiment. I'm assuming that you all still have your chickens… with one exception." He glanced at Chase, who quickly looked up from his eggshell guiltily. Dr. Hall covered his face in humiliation. "Anyway… The new experiment will go as follows: You and your partner are going to test each other's faith in one another. One of you will stand on top of a table and it will be the other's job to catch them… or at least make sure they land without injury."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Adams interrupted. "You expect us to purposely fall from a table, relying on our mortal enemies to save us?"

"Yes. And you will all be blind folded!" The doctor sounded far too cheery when he said this. The congressmen glanced at one another and began to quiver. "Now, in case you are wondering, there is a reason why we are doing this. Before you all have your paired sessions with me upstairs, you most likely will not have any faith in each other. Correct?" A few dozen heads all began to nod in unison. "Very good. Well, once you have finished talking to one another with me, I guarantee it will be easier for you to accomplish this task successfully."

"Oh, I see," Adams mumbled. "You want us to put faith in our mortal enemies twice. Brilliant!"

"Enough with the sarcasm, Mr. Adams. Let us begin!" Adams and Dickinson glanced at each other coldly and reluctantly made their way to an empty table.

"Do not think for a moment that I actually believe you are going to catch me!" Adams hissed.

"Ditto that!" Dickinson mumbled, not wanting Dr. Bachmeier to eavesdrop any more than he already had.

"So, who wants to be the first victim?" the doctor asked, again, a bit too cheerfully. Adams and Dickinson stared at one another, as if each one's stone-melting gaze would cause the other to give in.

"I say he goes first!" Adams demanded.

"What? Why me?"

"Because you are extremely sinister! And I know you are willing to injure me every chance you get!"

"Doctor, in all fairness to me, Mr. Adams is always the one to start the stick fights!"

"That's not true! The last time we had a stick fight, you beat me over the head… And I retaliated by kicking you really hard!"

"Well, I wouldn't have beaten you if you hadn't started singing about independency!"

"Really? Then why- "

"Please, gentlemen!" the doctor exploded. Both men jumped back, unaware that the doctor was still there. "Both of you in my office _now_!"

"But, Dr. Bachmeier…"

"Go!" Both men trudged out of the room furiously. Dr. Bachmeier, who was finally beginning to lose his patience, sighed deeply and smoothed down his vest. He was about to follow them out the door when a quiet little voice called out to him.

"Excuse me, doctor…" Dr. Hall whispered.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I don't want to trouble you, but I fear that I may have a problem with this particular experiment."

"Yes, you and everyone else."

"No. Again, I don't want to be a bother, but I'm not really sure if I feel comfortable catching my partner."

"Just make sure that he doesn't break his neck! You don't have to carry him around!"

"Dr. Bachmeier! Have you- " Dr. Hall checked his volume before continuing. "Have you seen the size of my partner? I'm not trying to be rude or anything but…"

"Owww! My hip!" Both of the doctors turned rapidly to see what had happened. Apparently, Steven Hopkins had been paired with Caesar Rodney and right as Hopkins leaped off the table, Rodney had one of his cancer-driven dizzy spells, causing him to collapse to the ground while Hopkins crashed into a chair and then down on top of poor little Caesar.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Hall. Just make do! And make sure that Hopkins and Rodney are still breathing!" Dr. Bachmeier stormed out of the room. Dr. Hall hesitantly returned to his table and stared fearfully into the eyes of Samuel Chase.


	8. Chapter 8

John Adams and John Dickinson pushed their way up the stairs and squeezed through Dr. Bachmeier's office doorway, neither one wanting to let the other enter before him.

Dickinson sat down on a large sofa, extending his entire body over both cushions, leaving Adams to reluctantly situate himself on a small wooden bench.

"Oh!" Dickinson groaned, smacking himself on the forehead.

"What's wrong?" Adams grunted impatiently.

"I left Johnny Junior downstairs."

"Who?" Dickinson opened his mouth to answer, but suddenly caught himself and turned towards the window. "I said, 'who?'"

"No one." A brief silence.

"Well, you must have been referring to _someone!_"

"I didn't mean anything! Leave me alone!"

"Someone named Johnny Junior?"

"Mr. Adams, kindly desist!" Adams rubbed his face pensively, but after a moment, jumped up and began to point accusingly at Dickinson.

"AH HA! I know what you were about to say! Oh… good…god. You gave it a name."

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Dickinson stammered.

"Are you really egotistical enough to give your name to a baby chicken?" Adams asked with an air of disgust.

"Um… No?"

"You did!"

"Not necessarily! It could be named after either one of us!" Before they could continue, Dr. Bachmeier entered.

"We will begin, gentlemen, by- "

"Wait!" Adams interrupted. "Before we begin, I must go downstairs to rescue… _Johnny Junior!_" Dickinson glared angrily.

"Who?" Dr. Bachmeier asked, confused.

"Mr. Dickinson can tell you all about it while I go and fetch him." As Adams started for the door, Dickinson leaped from the sofa and began to hover around him nervously.

"Don't leave me alone!" Dickinson whispered violently.

"What on earth?" Adams tried desperately to break away from Dickinson, who was presently clutching Adams' forearm with enough force to give him a rather nasty bruise. "What the devil has gotten into you?"

"You will not leave me alone with that 'doctor'! He will try to ask me _questions_!"

"You sound like a child."

"I have absolutely nothing to say to that imposter!" he declared viciously, taking another step towards Adams.

"Well, I'm sure that by now he is quite curious to know why you are pinning me against a door!" Dickinson, upon realizing what he was doing and how awkward it might appear to the entirely perplexed doctor, released his grasp on Adams' arm and took a step back. Adams sighed and opened the door. "Just go sit. You will survive, I assure you." As Adams left the room, Dickinson groaned to himself and reluctantly returned to the sofa.

"Is everything all right, Mr. Dickinson?" Dr. Bachmeier inquired.

"Yes, of course. Why would it not be?"

"To be perfectly honest, sir, I'm under the impression that perhaps you don't feel comfortable speaking with me."

"Don't be absurd!" Dickinson muttered, trying to prevent his voice from cracking by swallowing several times. Unfortunately, his mouth was as dry as sand.

"I don't want to upset you. I just want to get to know you."

"Why?" Dickinson snapped. "Why would you ever have any interest in me? The only reason you're even here is because Mr. Hancock sent for you! Do not patronize me, _Doctor_. At least have the common decency to admit your total apathy towards me and every other congressmen you have had the displeasure of conversing with these past few days." At this time, Dickinson was no longer on the sofa, but was standing defiantly, staring down at Dr. Bachmeier. He was hardly aware of what he had said. Anyone who was the least bit acquainted with Mr. Dickinson (with the exception of John Adams) knew that his main talent was the art of total self-control. He never became openly displeased with anyone (again, except Mr. Adams) because it was undiplomatic. But this was one of the few occasions where he had described how he felt exactly as he wished, not bothering to choose his words carefully or even control his tone. And to his total amazement, it had left him completely exhilarated. But his ecstasy soon turn to bitter regret as soon as he noticed a slight grin form on the doctor's mouth. The doctor had challenged him in the art of self-control. And the cool, considerate gentleman from Pennsylvania had been undeniably defeated.

He shrunk back down onto the sofa and began to rub his temples in frustration. Within a moment or two, Adams reappeared in the doorway, gently carrying unborn Johnny Junior, who was still lying comfortably on the little silky cushion.

"Doctor, before we begin," Adams announced. "I must insist that you speak to us like adults. If there is anything that I loathe, it's condescension." At this, Adams glanced accusingly at Dickinson, who had not stopped staring at his hands since the minor incident.

"Yes. You're not the only one who feels this way," Dr. Bachmeier muttered, still watching Dickinson. "Anyway, I assure you, Mr. Adams, I will try my best to treat you as an adult."

"Thank you!" Adams plopped down onto his wooden bench.

"The reason why I called you both in here so quickly is because I am genuinely concerned about you. I have never, in all my years of study, seen two fully-grown men argue and bicker like children the way that you two do! I'm not saying this because I wish to lecture you. I just truly believe that you two are the reason why Mr. Hancock sent for me in the first place. Now, it's my goal to find out why you both act this way whenever you're even in the same room as one another! Well?" Adams and Dickinson quickly glanced at each other, neither wanting to be the first to speak. Once again, Dr. Bachmeier was forced to take charge. "Mr. Adams, why don't you tell me what it is about Mr. Dickinson that bothers you?"

"Well… For one thing… He never takes any of my ideas seriously. He teases me mercilessly in front of all our colleagues. He's conniving, deceitful, and above all, a total- "

"Thank you, Mr. Adams… Mr. Dickinson… How do you feel about Mr. Adams?" Dickinson looked up surprised, as though the sound of his own name had startled him.

"I'm sorry… Uh…"

"Do I need to repeat the question?"

"No. I heard you…" The room was quiet. "I suppose… I cannot really say that anything in Mr. Adams character offends me."

"What?" Adams exploded. "No, no, no! Come now! Tell me what you are thinking! I can handle it!"

"What's there to say?"

"Wha- " Adams turned rapidly to Dr. Bachmeier, who shrugged his shoulders, and then back to Dickinson. "I do not believe you for a second. Don't think you are fooling me! Oh! I know what this is! You're trying to make me look cruel in front of the doctor! That's it! I was honest to the point of tactlessness. So this is your perfect opportunity to be a perfect gentleman!" At this, Dickinson snapped his head up furiously, causing Adams to jump.

"You seem to have forgotten something, Mr. Adams. I was not the one who ended our friendship, was I?"

"What?" Dr. Bachmeier gasped. "You were friends?" Adams thought intensely for a moment before realization fell upon him like a ton of stones.

"Oh lord."

"For god's sake, will someone explain what is happening?" the doctor asked, becoming slightly impatient.

"Just explain it to him," Adams mumbled. Dickinson took a deep breath before he began.

"A while back, when Mr. Adams first arrived in Philadelphia, my wife and I invited him to our estate for dinner. We immediately became friends. I would invite him to dine with us several times a week. Sometimes Mary and I would go on day trips and were happy to have Mr. Adams join us…"

"But… what happened?"

"Well… About a year ago, Mr. Adams had it in his mind that we all absolutely must declare independency from Great Britain. I, along with many other delegates, was completely opposed to it. Tension grew between us and we started seeing less and less of one another. But one day, Mr. Adams and I had an argument in the middle of congress that became so heated we eventually went outside to settle matters. And I think Mr. Adams should tell you the rest of the story, since he is responsible for most of it."

"Mr. Adams?"

Adams reluctantly looked up. "The evening of the fight, I decided to write a letter to a friend, discussing my displeasure with Mr. Dickinson. I was quite angry at the time wrote some things that probably should never have been put down on paper."

"Oh…" Dr. Bachmeier murmured in understanding. "Mr. Dickinson somehow found the letter. Is that it?"

"Not exactly," Adams mumbled.

"The letter was intercepted by British agents and published in a Tory newspaper," Dickinson explained. "So if I appear to be a kind gentleman, Mr. Adams, it's simply because I am one. At least I never viciously attacked you in public!"

"But doctor, in my defense, how was I to know that the British agents would take my letter and peep?!"

"All right! Enough! I've heard enough. Mr. Adams, let me ask you something. Do you believe that it was a good idea to write that letter?"

"It would have been fine if it hadn't been published."

"Even if this unfortunate event had not occurred, would you not have felt the least bit sorry about writing it? For instance… Maybe if you had waited to send it for a few days, so you would have time to calm yourself. If you had been rational about it, do you really think that you would have sent it at all?"

"Well… I suppose not."

"And Mr. Dickinson… If you had never been aware of that letter's existence, would you, at this time, dislike Mr. Adams as much as you do?"

"Letter or no letter, we still have entirely opposite views on political matters… But I suppose if he had not attacked my character… I might have been able to at least stay civil with him."

"That's what I thought. So this is what I think you both should do: Act as though the letter was never written. Mr. Adams regrets writing it. And if it had not been written, there is no guarantee that you both could not have resigned yourselves to having a few differences and maybe you could have even stayed friends. Do you both understand?"

"Yes…" Adams groaned.

"You want me to pretend that the letter never existed?" Dickinson asked, amazed.

"Yes. I'm sure it wasn't anything _that_ cruel, was it?"

"He called me a 'great fortune and a piddling genius' who lent a 'silly cast' to deliberations."

"Uh huh… That wasn't very nice of him, I'll admit. But try to look beyond that. Is there a chance that you two could have remained friends?" Dickinson and Adams stared at one another intensely for several minutes, each man too cautious to say anything without knowing exactly what the other was thinking.

"Yes. We could still be friends," Adams finally answered.

"Ah huh!" Dr. Bachmeier was smiling. "Do you agree, Mr. Dickinson?" Dickinson thought for a moment.

"I suppose… we could have remained friends."

"Very good! Now, this is what you both must do if you want to make sure that Hancock never sends for me again. I don't expect you to have dinner together several times a week or to go on day trips… Just try acting civil. Give each other's opinions respect and consideration. And above all, be tactful!" This last comment was meant for Adams, who scrunched his nose in disgust. "Agreed, gentlemen?"

Once more, Adams and Dickinson studied one another. All of a sudden, Adams leaped from his bench and crossed to Dickinson. He extended his hand boldly, knowing full well that if Dickinson did not take it, he would look like a complete idiot. But somewhat to his surprise, Dickinson stood and gave Adams one swift handshake. Dr. Bachmeier applauded.

"Bravo! Now… You two may return downstairs. I have much work to do." The two congressmen ventured towards the main room where the others were anxiously waiting. They crossed to their table and stood in awkward silence.

"So…" Adams murmured. "I suppose we should do the table-jumping test, right?"

Dickinson grinned. "You first, Mr. Adams." Adams leaped sprightly from a chair onto the table and tied a black handkerchief around his eyes. He slowly stepped towards the edge of the table. "All right… Are you ready?"

"I'm ready!" Dickinson said enthusiastically. Adams smiled and leaped backwards into the air. For a moment, it felt as though he were floating on a cloud, but this sensation soon passed with a rather painful crash. The room roared with laughter as Adams struggled to his feet, too shocked to speak.

"Wha- Wha-" he stuttered, removing the handkerchief. "But you said-"

"Oh come now, Mr. Adams. Did you really think I was going to catch you? How very naïve of you!" The laughter continued as Adams stormed out of the room, his pride throbbing even more than the large bump that was now forming on the back of his skull.


	9. Chapter 9

"Mr. Adams!" Dickinson called out, beating his cane against John Adams' door. "For God's sake, open the door!" There was no reply. "Come now! You're acting ridiculous!" Still no reply. "Did you think that I was really going to be warm and friendly with you in front of all our colleagues?" A rustling noise was made from within, leaving Dickinson with little doubt that Adams was inside. He rattled his cane against the door with a bit more emphasis this time. But before doing so he placed the egg cushion in an isolated corner where no harm could come to it. "Honestly, I don't know why you are so upset! It's not as if you wouldn't have done the same had I been gullible enough to give you the opportunity." This was definitely a poor choice of words. Adams' door burst open, causing Dickinson to jump back, straining to keep his balance, for the steps leading to Mr. Adams' doorway had been built rather precariously.

"Gullible?" Adams roared. "Is that what you call it? I stood in that room with you and the doctor and I distinctly heard you vow to treat me with respect and honor? This is how you keep your promises? What a _fine_ gentleman you have shown yourself to be!"

"Oh, stop! You had no intention of being kind to me and you know it! So please spare me the self-pity!"

"Why did you come here if you had no intention of apologizing?" Dickinson bent down and lifted the cushion.

"Lift the cloth!" Dickinson ordered. Adams sighed and reluctantly did as he was told and upon removing the piece of velvet cloth, he was immediately confronted by a young chick, not yet covered with fuzzy yellow feathers. It began to chirp at Adams, who nervously lifted it into his hands.

"Well, would you look at this!" Adams exclaimed in amazement, scrutinizing the chick carefully. "He was in your care for a whole day and somehow he managed to survive."

"You said that you would take it once it hatched!" Dickinson reminded him.

"So I did. Are you sure you want to give him to me so quickly?"

"Why would I have any desire to pass time with a chicken? Just take it!" He shoved the cushion into Adams' hands, almost causing him to drop Johnny Junior. Dickinson grasped his cane and quickly departed without as much as a nod goodbye. Adams shook his head in disapproval and reentered his home.

He placed the chick back on the cushion and set it on a table. "Well, I suppose I wasn't planning on doing anything today anyway." He stared at the chick curiously. Johnny Junior stretched his little wings and blinked. "Am I really talking to you?"

Blink… Blink…

"Mm hmm. I am. So… What do I do with you now? I wonder if you're hungry. Uh… _Are you HUNGRY_?!" He enunciated his words, as though this would help Johnny Junior understand him. "I suppose you don't understand me." He cupped the chick in his hands and lifted it to his face. "Well, aren't you amazing?" he whispered, squinting to get a good look at the chick's face. Apparently Johnny Junior did not appreciate being looked at in such a rude fashion, for this was more than he could handle. Using his beak, he picked at Mr. Adams nose, causing him to gasp, more in surprise than in pain. "Why you little-"

Before Adams could continue, Johnny Junior began to squeak angrily. Adams could not help but smile. "I think you have spent too much time with Mr. Dickinson."


	10. Chapter 10

10

This was it…the hour of judgment.

John Dickinson had awoken very early that morning, dressed in a hurry (not even giving himself time to triple-check the puffiness of his cravat), and departed from his home without eating breakfast. He arrived at congress at about eight thirty. As soon as he entered, he realized that this had been a mistake. Just because he was enthusiastic over the prospect of this being Dr. Bachmeier's last day in congress did not mean that anyone else was. Not even McNair had bothered showing up yet. Dickinson shuffled from side to side, not sure if he should just return home, and he was about to turn towards the door when a voice called out to him.

"Mr. Dickinson! What are you doing here so early?" Dickinson rapidly turned to see Dr. Bachmeier.

"Oh… I just thought I would… get an early start. What are you doing here?"

"This is where I've been staying." Dickinson stared at him, puzzled.

"Here? Mr. Hancock did not provide you with lodgings?"

"It's quite comfortable here. This way I never have to leave my work."

"You are telling me that Hancock forced you to spend the last week living in your office?" Dr. Bachmeier's face flushed and he quickly looked away. "Wait! He didn't even let you sleep in the office? Where have you been staying?"

"Uh…Well…I've been quite happy staying up in the…bell tower."

"Oh dear lord!"

"It's not as grim as it sounds, Mr. Dickinson. To be sure, I was frightened the first few mornings when I opened my eyes to see a pigeon staring at me. But I got used to it and now… I don't know how I will ever go back to staying in a regular bed chamber!" Dickinson scoffed and placed his belongings on his desk. "Perhaps you came early because you wish to speak with me privately. Is that it, Mr. Dickinson?"

"Certainly not! I believe I made my feelings towards you and your little experiments quite clear the last time we conversed!"

"All right. If you are sure," Dr. Bachmeier said with a quick shrug. "Have you been getting along with Mr. Adams?"

Dickinson's eyes quickly went to the floor. "Our chicken is doing well, if that is what you are asking."

"That wasn't really what I had in mind. Has he been civil with you?"

Dickinson began to scrape the corner of his desk anxiously. "He has been quite civil with me."

"And… How have you acted towards him?" Dickinson did not reply. He just continued to rub his fingernail along the table's edge. "Was it that terrible, sir?"

"Terribly difficult, Doctor! Can you imagine how these gentlemen would react if I suddenly became friends with John Adams? They would think I had gone positively insane!"

"Does it matter what they think?"

"Of course it does! I have gained a fair amount of respect from every member of this congress _except_ from Mr. Adams. I can't just ignore this and be his friend! That would look incredibly weak!"

"Or it would make you out to be the better man! Just because Mr. Adams doesn't show any regard for your ideas it does not mean that you cannot show any for his! On the contrary, I think that if you were to be respectful, people would have even _more_ admiration for you."

"Perhaps."

"But, Mr. Dickinson… What makes you think that Adams has no respect for you? Are you really still upset about the letter? I guarantee that most people do not even remember it."

"It's not only the letter… People think that the reason why I stopped speaking to him was because it was a public disgrace for me. And to be sure, that was part of it. But… I genuinely believed that he was my friend. Yes, I was angry with him on the day of our first argument. But I did not truly believe that that would be enough to annihilate our friendship. And whether he had sent the letter or not, it just told me exactly how he felt about me. Tell me, Doctor. Do you really believe that he impulsively conjured up all of those cruel insults? No. He had been thinking it ever since he met me. That was just the first time he put it into words."

Doctor Bachmeier breathed deeply and watched Mr. Dickinson silently for what felt to be the longest two minutes of John Dickinson's life. "It's all so clear now," he finally muttered. "The constant bickering, the insults, the occasional fights… It had nothing to do with public humiliation, did it? He had attacked your character. If it had been anyone else, you could have just ignored it. But this was your best friend and yet he spoke of you as if he were your adversary."

"That's what he has become, has he not?"

"Mr. Dickinson… I feel that I know you so much better now."

Before they could continue with their little session, the door swung open and in came McNair. Without even glancing at Dickinson and the doctor, he began to open the windows one at a time, which was obviously a rather difficult task for a man of his small stature.

Once McNair finished with his chores, he departed, and Dr. Bachmeier took this opportunity to continue speaking with Dickinson who, for the first time since the doctor had arrived, was being completely honest with him. Several hours passed in this fashion, but when gentlemen of the congress began to show up, Dickinson made it clear that he had no desire to continue.

The first to arrive was "Old Grape N' Guts," as McNair called him. Everyone else referred to him as Stephen Hopkins. Unfortunately, he explained, he had been stuck with Caesar Rodney as a partner, so he had done most of the work. And as a result, the egg was crushed within the first hour. The chicken survived, but was permanently crippled to the point where it could not chirp, could not flap, but once in a while its eyes would bulge out and it would go into a mild seizure, returning to its vegetable state within a few minutes…usually.

The next to arrive was Mr. Rutledge, whose chicken was in much better health that Mr. Hopkins'. Ever since it hatched the previous day, Rutledge had been giving it hourly baths, rubbing its wings down in rose pedals to make it smell sweet, and feeding it a small variation of seeds, trying to discover which its favorite was. That morning, Mr. Rutledge, caught up in parental enthusiasm, went so far as to make it a little hat and dress coat, hoping it would be the most dandified chicken out of the bunch. If nothing else, he definitely succeeded in turning a few heads while carrying the little guy to congress.

As the congressmen entered one by one, Dickinson watched the door, anxiously waiting for Adams to arrive. Finally, at approximately ten o'clock, John Adams entered the room with Johnny Junior, who was sleeping soundly on his cushion. Dickinson leaped from his chair and crossed to Adams.

"Uh…" Dickinson was not exactly sure what he had wanted to say for so long. "How is the bird?"

"Fine…" Adams murmured, arching a brow at the awkwardly intense Dickinson. "What? Did you think that I was going to kill it in one day?"

"No. I trust your abilities." Adams whipped his head up and stared at Dickinson, perplexed.

"Please, Dickinson. It's too early for your sarcastic criticism." Adams headed towards his desk without giving Dickinson a chance to defend himself.

"Gentlemen," the Doctor called out. "As you all know, this is the last day I will be meeting with you. I hope that I have helped each of you… I have had more success with some of you than with others. But I have enjoyed conversing with each and every one of you. You all interest me exceedingly. Take Mr. Rutledge, for example. His one method of surviving is pretending to be someone that he's not, just to feel good about himself…even if it means disappointing the people he loves."

Rutledge looked up at the doctor, confused. "What? Oh! Right! Uh… Oh yes. My wife… That."

"And there's Mr. Adams, who has struggled his entire life with tactlessness and a quick temper, which has destroyed relationships that he had treasured at one time." Adams glanced at Dickinson and then down at Johnny Junior, trying to suppress a guilty expression. "And then there's Mr. Dickinson-" Before he continued, the Doctor glanced at Dickinson, who was staring at him horrified, his eyes begging the Doctor not to speak. Dr. Bachmeier sighed and briefly nodded at Dickinson. "But what can I really say about Mr. Dickinson? Anyway… to get to the point… I am sure that Mr. Hancock has learned very interesting facts about all of you that may help him stay patient with you. But more importantly, I think you have all learned a few interesting facts about each other. And with this knowledge and understanding, I know it will become easier to work with one another and to make choices that will benefit your country. Now… I know you are all shaking with anticipation, so let us start presenting our chickens. Who first?"

At first no one responded, but finally Hopkins and Rodney decided to be the brave ones. In a way, Hopkins was rather cocky about his half- brain dead chicken, who had served as a high source of amusement for him these past two days. Every time the little guy started one of his shaking fits, he would give him a little swig of rum and that would calm it down. Though Dr. Bachmeier really did not see how this had anything to do with the original purpose of the exercise, he decided it would be easier just to thank Hopkins for participating and move on. Many other presentations went on in the same fashion. The Doctor was pleased to see that the only pair who had killed the chicken was Samuel Chase and Lyman Hall… mainly Samuel Chase. No one in the room was brave enough to actually ask Mr. Chase what he had done to the helpless little bird, but everyone immediately thought the worst. The last two to present were the two Johns.

"Mr. Adams, Mr. Dickinson, tell me what you two did in order to raise this chicken together."

"Well…" Adams began. "There's not a lot to say. He took care of the chick while it was still in its shell. I had to deal with it when it actually required attention."

"Yes, that is true," Dickinson announced. "But it was not because I wanted Mr. Adams to do all of the work. Rather… it was because I felt he was far more competent in this particular field. I realize that sounds ridiculous. But Mr. Adams is far more generous with his time than I am. Additionally, he is much gentler with animals and would be willing to take the time to find out what the chicken needed in order to survive. I, however, am extremely impatient and unmotivated." The room was disturbingly quiet and everyone, including John Adams, was staring at Dickinson in amazement.

"Thank you for your candor, sir," Dr. Bachmeier said. "How do you think this particular exercise relates to your positions here in congress?"

"To be sure," Dickinson announced, not giving Adams a chance to speak. "This particular experiment shows how well we can work together to take care of something, even if we are forced to work with people with whom we might not be compatible. This was the case for Mr. Adams and me. Yet I believe that in the past three days, he and I have learned more about one another than ever before, and this helped us to take care of something from its very beginning. This, in my opinion, is more important than anything political that we have ever been forced to do together… even if it was as insignificant as a baby chicken." The silence continued.

"Mr. Adams," Dr. Bachmeier said. "What have you learned about Mr. Dickinson in the past three days that made it easier for you to complete this experiment successfully?"

"Uh…What have I learned about him?"

"Yes. What have you learned-"

"If I may," Dickinson interrupted. "I believe I may be able to answer this question, regarding my own opinion of Mr. Adams."

"All right. Proceed, Mr. Dickinson."

"Gentlemen… If you had asked me what I thought of Mr. Adams a week ago, I would have tried my best to ignore the question, but if it had been pressed, I would have announced that I thought he was deceitful, obnoxious, and dangerous. But now… I would have to say that he is one of the most decent men that I have ever had the great fortune to meet." A low murmur buzzed through the room and each man began to shuffle in his seat nervously. Adams' mouth dropped open yet he could not make out words. Eventually, he just fell into a chair.

"Again… Thank you, Mr. Dickinson. I'm sure that was not easy for you to admit in front of a crowd." By now, Dickinson had turned to Johnny Junior and began to pat him, not yet able to face the crowd's reaction. "My dear congressmen," Dr. Bachmeier called out. "Now do you believe that it is possible for two people to put aside their differences in order to accomplish a common task? You all know even better than I do that Mr. Adams and Mr. Dickinson were always in a constant battle, hardly even able to stay in the same room as one another. But now look at what has happened! I'm sure that you all realize that it is possible for every single man in this room to take an active role in this congress. It does not necessarily mean that you have to become the best of friends. But as long as you can make decisions without brutally attacking each other, I think that these colonies should be proud to have you as their congressmen. And… on that note… I must be going. I'm going abroad, back to my homeland. What an interesting journey this has been… and not only for myself. Good bye, Mr. Hancock." He briefly bowed at John Hancock, who had been unusually quiet these past few days. "And good bye, gentlemen." All of a sudden, each man began to violently beat his hand against the desk in front of him, creating a rather loud, obnoxious racket. Dr. Bachmeier took a step back, surprised. "What a very odd way of saying good bye." The Doctor examined the room one last time, knowing that he would most likely never see any of these gentlemen again and at last departed.

"Well," Hancock said, sitting up in his chair. "I hope you all learned something from the Doctor. If nothing else, I hope that now, whenever you have the impulse to attack one another, you will think back to this past week and realize that it all could happen again if you all bother me enough." Hancock rose, gathered his belongings, and departed.

"This may be a little strange," Lee began. "But I wish the Doctor could stay forever!"

"I don't know about that," Sherman muttered. "But I did enjoy talking to him in private. He actually understood my love of shoes… unlike _some_ people!" He glared accusingly at Jefferson, who was still staring into space.

"I guess Mr. Hancock's idea was a success. Was it not?" Franklin asked cheerfully. "But why are we all so down? Let's all go down to the tavern and celebrate!"

"What are we celebrating?" Wilson inquired.

"Who cares?" Hopkins snapped. "It's rum! Let's go!" Hopkins stood and waddled out of the room at a speed that was rather impressive for a man of his age. Eventually, others began to follow his example.

"Are you coming, John?" Franklin asked, nudging Adams.

"Oh, I'll be there in a few minutes." Once the others had made their way out of the building, Adams nervously made his way to Dickinson, who was sitting on his desk, holding Johnny Junior. Adams had no idea what he should say, so he just stood there, watching Dickinson stroke the chick. Normally, he would have felt extremely uncomfortable, but he was under the impression that Dickinson was not even aware that he was in the room.

"I wonder what we are supposed to do with the chickens," Dickinson murmured. Adams raised his eyebrows in astonishment.

"I wonder if he even thought of that. I suppose I can take it if you don't want it."

"No!" Dickinson exclaimed. "I mean… If you really want it, you may have it, of course. But I was thinking I might give it to my eldest daughter."

"By all means, give it to her." Dickinson placed Johnny Junior back on the cushion and covered him with the velvet cloth. "Mr. Dickinson… What you said before… About me being a decent fellow… You were just saying that to impress the Doctor… Right?"

"Is that what you think, Mr. Adams?"

"To be honest… I don't know! You spend most of your time trying to find new ways to make me miserable. Now you are standing in front of all our colleagues, spouting on and on about how wonderful I am. To be quite frank, you are a complete enigma." For once, Dickinson smiled, and it wasn't his regular sneer. He was genuinely amused.

"As I said before, it was not me who sent that letter. Before then, I never had any negative feelings towards you."

"That's not true! I only wrote the letter because of the way you acted in congress that day!"

"No, Mr. Adams. Never once did I actually attack you as a person. I admired your character and I never stopped admiring it. Just because I happen to disagree with you on certain issues it does not mean that I dislike your character."

"Oh…" For the first time, John Adams understood. "Does this mean that we can be on friendly terms again?"

"If that is what you want," Dickinson said nonchalantly. "It might seem a bit strange to the others if we start fighting again after my performance this morning." Adams smiled, hardly able to believe what was happening. "Come. Let us venture towards the tavern." As Dickinson headed towards the door, Adams began to fidget nervously. It took a moment for Dickinson to notice. "Something wrong?"

"Just one question… Are you going to continue going against me in my pursuit for American independence?"

Dickinson grinned deviously. "I have no doubt that I will." Adams smiled as well, gathering Johnny Junior's cushion in his arms.

_And so the battle continued._

THE END


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